


When You Are Old

by I_llbedammned



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Memories, Past, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_llbedammned/pseuds/I_llbedammned
Summary: Charles Xavier feels his age now more than ever.  He reflects upon how he and Erik were at the beginning, how life was less complicated then.





	When You Are Old

Being a hero was a narrative for younger people, Charles reflected as he felt the weight in his bones even more than he usually did. He knew that he wasn’t that old, not in comparison to an actual elder, but there were some days he profoundly felt it in his body that had taken the beating from hundreds of battles. His mind moved his chair around his office and placed a record on the old phonograph. It was something from his younger days, The Rolling Stones “Beggar’s Banquet” album. As the drum beats of “Sympathy for the Devil” kicked in he poured himself two fingers of whiskey and opened up a book of poetry.

He was reading and his hands lingered over a few lines, 

“History repeats itself. Somebody says this.  
History throws its shadow over the beginning, over the desktop,  
over the sock drawer with its socks, its hidden letters.  
History is a little man in a brown suit  
trying to define a room he is outside of.  
I know history. There are many names in history  
but none of them are ours.”

How bitterly true those lines were. He could never admit it to the outside world, there he needed to be strong for them and be the leader they needed, but there were times he wanted to go back to a simpler time when the histories still felt novel rather than a cycle that they had gotten stuck in several decades ago and never broken out of. Erik. His thoughts came back to Erik as they usually did on the nights when the air felt too cold and his spirit too bitter.

They were in love then, though neither of them ever spoke the words to each other. They didn’t need to. The poetry of their glances, the lingering feel of their hands upon an arm, and the implicit understanding that they all came into this with their own scars brought upon them by a world that saw them as little more than curiosities or monsters was more than enough to show the love without a verbal recognition of it. A verbal recognition would have only cheapened what they had, brought it out into the ugly light and left it open to criticism from everyone and their mother. They didn’t need more criticism; they needed to know the feel of each other and the pulse of their thoughts.

He didn’t need telepathy to know that no one else had gotten as close to Erik before or since. Yes they both moved on and their lips had graced other’s flesh, but there was a difference between physical and emotional intimacy. Both of them had profoundly loved others, but there was never than understanding and even when they were with others the love between them never really vanished. Even when he had started his veritable terrorist organization and started the attacks Charles knew that Erik would never try to kill him and that should anyone try to kill him they would die a much more painful death. That may seem like an odd way to show love to an outsider, but it was all part of the dance. Charles would never give up on Erik and let him fall completely to darkness and Erik would never kill Charles in earnest.

No. He didn’t need to focus on the present and their struggles. Not now, that could wait until morning when the light would force him to his senses.  
Instead he remembered kissing Erik, he remembered making the first move and not expecting it to work only to find himself pinned hard against the brick wall of the alleyway behind the bar with Erik’s hands running through his long brown hair and his tongue exploring his mouth in earnest. There was an aggression and strength to him that Charles always admired and envied; the surprising gentle streak that the otherwise domineering man only showed to Charles and Raven. He remembered getting drunk in a bar where no one knew their name and no one was depending on them, laughing about how ridiculously hard the task was in front of them and how they were chasing after fairy tales. The sunlight shining upon Erik’s face as he slept curled tightly into a ball with his head resting on Charles’ chest- for once the stress that was on his face while waking was no longer there and he looked peaceful. His eyes slid open and he grinned widely upon noticing Charles looking at him saying that though this was unexpected it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. 

The office around Charles felt more cold, but less lonely with the warmth of a vision from the past keeping him company. He wanted to feel that warmth again, to not feel the aches in his body and have the luxury of being able to laze all day in bed because they both had the night off from their eternal endeavors. If he thought hard he could almost see Raven walking in through his office doors, taking a seat on his desk, and saying he and Erik were going to go on a picnic at midnight- no questions asked. 

A knock on his door made him start and he called out, “Who’s there?” A stupid part of him hoped that his thoughts were made manifest.

“Professor?” Jean’s voice sounded to him and he forced down his disappointment, putting on the stoic mask that was expected of him, “Do you have a minute to talk? There’s something bothering me.”

“Come in.” He said, bookmarking the poetry book and pouring himself another drink as “Salt of the Earth” made its rounds on the record player. Looks like it was time to come back to the present – people needed him here.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem used was "Little Beast | Crush" by Richard Siken


End file.
